Over the Course of Time
by DoctorDead11
Summary: Two years after Sherlock's 'death', These are John's thoughts.


Disclaimer: I do NOT own Sherlock

Written in John's POV

* * *

I looked over to the side. There was nothing there. Just the wall. I thought I'd seen something. I guess not. Just the dull patterned wallpaper, shifting in the dim light of the open window. The nothingness my life's become.

I sighed, as I walked over to the bed. I really can't be bothered to write anything anymore. There's nothing to write about anyways. There never was anymore. There's no inspiration left in these walls of the quiet flat. I sat down, my head down low in my hands. There's no point… not anymore… there's nothing left… random words drifted around in my clouded mind, as dull as the walls and ceiling that surrounded me. Even the carpet, was now a empty shade unlike the deep red it used to be.

"Why?!" I suddenly screamed, the loneliness and quietness of the room suddenly too much.

I walked over to the small mirror in the small corner of the room, staring directly at what had been bothering me for so long. I'm not what he had I used to be, two years before. My skin was pale, from lack of eating. Almost as dull as the walls, making me feel slightly claustrophobic. My eyes used to be a bright shade of blue. Not anymore. No, now they were faded. Almost gray. I looked at my reflection in disgust. Tears of self loathing and despair came to my eyes. The pain has almost become too much. I resisted the urge to scream.

Instead I screamed in my head, all the self loathing and despair quickly shifting into anger and hatred. I hit the palm of my right hand into the mirror, feeling pain like liquid fire course through my arm. Tears blurring my eyes, I ignored the pain shooting through my arm as finally, I got the result I wanted. The mirror broke into pieces, falling from the old wooden wardrobe into a small pile of glass on the carpet.

As I turned away, I caught sight of my reflection in the biggest shard of glass. Cuts all over my arm and face from tiny splinters of the glass. Tears in my eyes, I quickly turned away, pacing around the room as I had done so often for far longer than I can remember.

* * *

A familiar face appeared around the door.

I turned, not even bothering to wipe my eyes. They all knew I was crying. They all tried to help. None of them knew what it was like for me.

I've hardly eaten anything, hardly slept at all either. All I did was blame myself when he jumped. They make sure I stay in the flat so I don't kill myself, make sure I still ate, that if I need anything, I had it.

But they can't do anything to stop it from hurting. Now I had broken the mirror, they'll come and take away all of the pieces. Give me a cup of tea, sit with me so I didn't _accidentally_ burn myself with it, and try to make some decent conversation. I have nothing to talk about. I never do.

They don't understand.

"John…" said Lestrade, concern showing in his eyes. I knew it was genuine, but I can't bring myself to care anymore. Their concern can't bring him back.

"So what, I broke it." I said, sitting on the soft bed, waiting for the usual 'you'll start feeling better soon' crap they were always telling him.

But instead, Lestrade went over and sat on the bed next to me. Awkwardly, he put an arm around the numb, hollow shell that I'd now become.

"What?" I asked him. His warmth should have comforted me, but I didn't even feel it.

"John," he said, looking into the younger mans blue-gray eyes. For the first time I noticed that I'm not the only grey one. He had lost some weight, and his hair had grown a little bit longer. His skin was paler, too. They never went out, in case I tried something. For the first time, I considered the harm I was doing. Then I dismissed it just as quickly as it passed. It's their own fault. They should just let me kill myself. Then they wouldn't all be like this.

"Are you going to say something or just sit here?" I finally asked. My voice never had any emotion. "I want to be alone."

"No." said Lestrade bluntly. "Not yet. You need to move on. It's over."

"I can't." I said, dully.

"Why not?" asked Lestrade, not expecting an answer, staring blankly at the shards of glass on the floor.

We fell back on the bed, Lestrade beside me outstretched.

"Man, you stink…" he said, after we had lain there in silence for almost an hour.

"Yeah, and you need to shave…" I said.

"You realise I'm not letting you out of my sight until I can trust you not to do something stupid…" said Lestrade, sitting up, making me look over.

"Yeah…" I said. He got up off the bed, dragging me with him. "I'll pick up some Chinese food while you take a shower." he said grinning.

"Sure…" I said, slowly smiling.


End file.
